


That's What Little Brothers are for

by ChandraAAbsentia



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Little Brothers, Protective Older Brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChandraAAbsentia/pseuds/ChandraAAbsentia
Summary: Through the years Jake Otto will discover all the things a little brother is for, both the good and the bad.





	1. Four Years Old

The muffled slam of the car door open and shut.   
Peering out the window on tip toe.  
Little bundle in step-mother’s arms.   
Big smile on dad’s face.   
“Look it here, Jake,” Dad says, “he’s your new brother. You’re gonna have to take care of him, protect him, show him the ropes of this place.”   
The cloth of the bundle falls away.   
Big blue eyes in a chubby face.   
That’s what Jake sees.   
Little nose twitches. Little face grows red. Little fists fling. Little mouth opens to unleash a large scream.   
Step-mother can’t make it stop.   
Dad can’t make it stop.   
The screaming bundle of baby brother finds its way into Jake’s arms.   
He shushes.   
Baby coos.  
Dad pats his back, says he’s proud.   
Jake beams.   
So that’s what little brothers are for: to make you feel like a man.


	2. Eight Years Old

When the camera rolls, everything’s alright.

Everyone has big smiles.

Every member knows their place.

    Papa Otto preaches.

             Jake plays the faithful son.

                     Step-mother’s the smiling wife.

                             Troy holds the bucket.

Everything’s okay, perfect, grand.

 Director yells cut.

 The world goes to hell. The screaming, the fighting, even the camera man is getting involved. Troy starts to cry, tugs on step-mother’s skirt. She doesn’t want him. Papa Otto doesn’t want him. Troy waddles to big brother. Big brother always wants him. To Jake he feels like a teddy bear: the pudge of his flesh, the soft of his shirt, the heat of his body. The only thing off are his eyes melting into salty tears that dampen Jake’s pants. Jake shuts out the chaos of his family, focuses on comforting Troy.

So that’s what little brothers are for: to distract you from the pain.


	3. Ten Years Old

Volatile.

V-O-L-A-T-I-L-E

Volatile: the atmosphere at the Otto family dinner table.

Jake twirls his fork in his spaghetti. His mind is chanting spelling words. His eyes are watching family.

Troy is talking to Big Otto, trying to tell him about the magical blue eggshells he found.

Big Otto is watching step-mother with a curled lip.

Step-mother is pouring more wine into her glass, eyes bleary, hand unsteady.

The dark atmosphere materializes as even darker words shouted across the table, words hurled with flecks of spit and wild eyes. Jake is cowering, preparing for glasses and forks and god knows what else to be flown overhead.

  “I hate both of you!”

Troy has jumped from his chair, both palms pressing into the table, into his blue eggshells. His face is red.

“You sit back down,” Big Otto says.

“Fuck you.”

Jake’s heart stops. The breath freezes in his lungs. Step-mother is laughing herself into tears, her perfectly painted hands held over her mouth.

Big Otto grabs hold of Troy, one hand wholly encircling Troy’s upper arm. Troy lets out a whimper, a sobbed “sorry” but it does no good. Into the corner they go. Worn leather belt flies from Jeremiah’s pants and whips its way to Troy’s bottom. It misses, hits his back instead. Troy’s hands are over his face, muffling his cries.

“Please don’t, Big Otto,” Jake says, “He didn’t know it was a bad word.”

Big Otto stops mid swing. He sighs, returns his belt to its place.

“You respect me,” he tells Troy, “And you respect your mother. Clear?”

Troy nods.

“Go finish eating.”

Troy hurries back into his chair. Tears are still flowing down his cheeks, but he’s smiling now.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to Jake, “Big Otto will tell me he’s sorry later, and then I can show him my eggshells.”

So that’s what little brothers are for: to take the brunt of the anger.


	4. Twelve Years Old

The sky is a palette of colors, a back drop for the red Jake is about to splash upon it. He’s old enough now, mature enough now, to do this on his own. Big Otto trusts him to protect the ranch, to hunt the coyotes all by himself. Jake doesn’t intend to let him down. He hears a soft whimper coming from his right. He charges towards the sound, expecting to see an enemy of fang and fur. The reality is something nightmarish.

It doesn’t look alive. It glistens in the sun, slimy red body writhing in agony around the stake pounded into its back. It hears Jake approaching and raises its head. Its face is nothing but black eyes and white teeth with no skin to protect either from the elements. Its Blood mingles with the dust of the earth like clots.

It is screaming.

 It is scared.

It is dying and Jake wonders if it knows. He raises his rifle. The head explodes from the force of the shot and Jake is thankful he’s a decent marksman, that it only took one try. He doesn’t know if he could stomach having to shoot twice.

He doesn’t know what he plans to do. He walks up the stairs of the house, ears still ringing, body numb. Troy is sitting in his room. His hand is flying over a notebook, scribbling furiously. He senses Jake’s presence, turns around. There’s a smile on his face stretching ear to ear. He says something to Jake that Jake doesn’t hear. He’s too busy staring at the pelt on Troy’s desk.

 It’s a rabbit’s pelt.

 And it’s still wet.

So that’s what little brothers are for: to push you to the edge.


	5. Eighteen Years Old

He’s just standing in the doorway with his arms crossed

Waiting to be noticed

Waiting to be heard

Because of course it’s Jake’s job to fix Troy’s every little boo boo.

Not this time.

Troy shuffles, clearly growing impatient.

“You don’t have to leave,” he says.

Jake continues packing.

“We have books here,” Troy says, “Lots of them. You should save yourself some money and just do a lot of reading.”

“Big Otto trusted me with this mission,” Jake says, “He wants me to get an education so I can help him run the ranch.”

 He know these words will hurt, wants them to hurt, wants Troy to actually feel something for once. Troy scratches at the wall, picking at some invisible flaw.

“Maybe I should go with you then,” he says, “if it’s that important to this place.”

“You can’t go, Troy,” Jake says, “You’re not even in high school.”

“I’m homeschooled.”

“Big Otto makes you read one book a year in between chores. That’s not an education. That’s a loophole.”

“I’ve learned things,” Troy says. He smiles wryly at Jake.

“The kind of knowledge you possess the world doesn’t need any more of,” Jake says. He slings his duffel over his shoulder and shoves past Troy.

“My mom’s not doing so good,” Troy says. Jake pauses.

“Doctor’s don’t think she’s gonna last much longer. Not that they know anything, but…. Big Otto’s not around much these days and I don’t want to be the one to find her. They say the smell is something awful, you know? I just…please don’t leave me alone, Jake.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

 A clean break.

That’s what Jake wants.

That’s what Jake needs.

There are places out there that are better.

There are things he has to do for himself, alone.

“I’ll be back for the holidays,” Jake says. Troy’s eyes are the same kind of round and blue as they were when he was a boy clinging to Jake’s leg. Jake walks away, his steps quick despite how heavy he feels.

So that’s what little brothers are for: to cut you raw with guilt


	6. Twenty Two Years Old

It’s grown since he’s left.

Little motor homes dot the lush green.

Horses run in roughly made paddocks.

Vegetables sprout from large gardens.

His father had told him about the changes, how six families had now doubled to twelve.

It’s still too small for Jake. His old home resembles a cage of scrub brush walls. Already he misses the readings, the lectures, the friends sleeping in bunks close by, the midnight meal runs, the weekend trips to the concerts and the museums.

Three more months until law school.

He repeats the thought over and over in his head like a lullaby.

Troy’s sitting on the fence post waiting for him, a large grin on his face. He swings open the gate to let Jake’s truck pass. Jake hears and feels a heavy thud that causes his heart to pound. He turns around to see Troy has leaped from the fence into the truck bed. In anger Jake slams the gas, sends Troy falling to the floor. Troy just laughs and the sound makes Jake laugh too.

Jake stops his truck in front of the house. Troy vaults out of the back so fast he nearly trips into the dirt.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jake tells him.

“Not possible, Jake. I’m invincible.”

He smiles wide and daring and Jake chuckles.

“Look,” Troy says. He pulls a little card out of his pocket that makes Jake’s heart stop. He swipes it from Troy’s hand, inspects it, feels relief. It’s a fake. It’s a good fake but a fake nonetheless.

“Where’d you get this?” Jake asks.

“I made it on Big Otto’s laptop.”

“Does he know you made it? I bet he doesn’t, because if he did he’d tan your hide.”

“I’m subverting the false authority the government has placed on my life. I’m a perfectly good driver and I have every right…”

“The only reason why you don’t have a driver’s license is because Dad won’t take you to get one. Don’t you get it? Dad doesn’t want you to go out on the road. He’s terrified of you being alone around other people.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“You know why, Troy.”

“It’s a bad sign when there’s fighting before you even cross the threshold.”

Big Otto strides down the steps slow and purposeful like a cowboy. He stops mere inches from his children, his smile friendly, his eyes hard.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“It’s fine,” Troy says.

“Yeah,” Jake says, “I was just admiring Troy’s handiwork. Why don’t you show Big Otto what you made, Troy?”

“What did you make, Troy?” Big Otto asks. His face has blanched, his eyes have widened. Jake can almost feel the fear coming off him.

“It’s nothing,” Troy says. He digs his toe into the dirt, refuses to look into Big Otto’s eyes.

“ _Give_ it to me, son,” Big Otto says. Troy cringes, hands over the ID.

Big Otto gives it the same inspection Jake did, comes to the same conclusion.

“You make this, Troy?” he asks.

“I’m subverting the false authority the government has placed on my life,” Troy says.

“I can see that,” Big Otto says.

“I’m a sovereign citizen and I have a right to use the roads I pay taxes to help maintain.”

“You don’t pay taxes, Troy,” Jake says, “You don’t have a job.”

“Troy works here,” Big Otto says, “Good, hard work. And he’s right. The only reason why the government maintains these IDs is to keep track of the American populace. You have to pay them an arm and a leg every couple years to play Big Brother to you.”

“Aren’t you the one who wants to require those same IDs at the polls?”

“Is that what they teach you at that fancy school? To talk back to your father?”

Jake feels his ears warm. He looks over at Troy and sees a smile has wormed onto little brother’s face. Big Otto turns to Troy and the smile disappears.

“I’m going to keep this,” he says, “I’d like to show it Russell. He’ll get a big kick out of it. Don’t make another one. Now, let’s sit down at the supper table before the food gets cold.”

Big Otto walks up the steps. Troy and Jake exchange glances, neither satisfied with what’s transpired.

 

So that’s what little brothers are for: to frustrate you to no end


End file.
